


Bello Infernum, Amor Caeli

by SnoozingSugarNova



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Blood and Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 09:07:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20672831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnoozingSugarNova/pseuds/SnoozingSugarNova
Summary: During the Battle at Gronder, Claude receives a devasting injury from Dimitri's Relic. Byleth struggles to reconcile his guilt, blaming himself for the incident. Haunted by the demons of war, the former professor finds himself replaying the events of that fateful day in his mind even as he hastens to his comrade's bedside - awaiting his assumed recovery.





	Bello Infernum, Amor Caeli

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, this is waaaaayyy longer than I hoped it to be - I got just a /little/ carried away. This is my angry response to intsys for not allowing m!Byleth to s-rank Claude (since I did a Dimitri one already despite the fact I'm golden deer all the way). Obviously, Claude is probs the most bi out of all the students, but I don't make the rules - just break them. Sadly no kinky stuff this time but plenty of wartime drama, PTSD, and soft tender recovery. Thanks for stopping by! I'm the only one that proofreads, so I apologize for any grammatical and spelling errors. Kudos are appreciated <3

Byleth moved to the next injury, muttering utterances of prayers to the goddess. He beseeched Her aid as the warm glow of white magic radiated from his fingertips. The wounded soldier beneath him gasped in relief as Byleth worked, the swollen limb shifting as the bone began to mend - the surrounding cuts and scrapes glowing with mana before repairing themselves. The professor's brow began to furrow in exhaustion, but graciously his long bangs obscured his face, crouched over as he was. The demigod had lost count of how many casualties he had already tended to...the battle of Gronder having taken its toll on the unified army of Garreg Mach and the Alliance Militia. Thanks to the combined tactical prowess of Claude and Byleth, they managed to secure a victory, but at a hefty price. Manuela's infirmary was reserved only for the most severe cases - amputees, burn victims, and those afflicted by Imperial curses. To address all other injured persons, makeshift cots had been hastily erected in the reception hall, all of which were already occupied. All other casualties sat in lines against the walls, the chorus of moans and cries of pain becoming deafening. Anyone who could continue to stand and had any magical aptitude was asked to assist, which is where Byleth currently found himself. Marianne, Lysthesia, Lorenz, Mercedes and Annette worked on those currently situated on the cots. Even Ashe, Caspar, Sylvain and Ignatz managed to quickly pick up simple healing spells in order to assist the best they could, following Byleth's command and addressing those on the floor. 

While not the place for such thoughts, the Professor was proud of his students as he watched them work. Marianne normally dreaded social interaction, but Byleth observed as her soft and calming voice put the soldiers' minds at ease. Even Caspar, whose hands were normally rough and imprecise, paid careful attention to keep his movements slow and gentle as he applied bandages and damp rags to his patients. Raphael was in charge of providing a continuous supply of hot water, his bulky arms managing to haul in four steaming cauldrons at a time while it would normally take two individuals to carry in one. The teacher's only regret was that Claude couldn't be here to view it.

The tactician shook his head dismissively. These people came first…Claude would want him to help them first.

Having finished his work on this patient, Byleth wiped his brow, smiling as the man offered him words of gratitude as he moved on to the next. Before he was able to walk more than a few steps, Byleth stumbled as the world around him grew dark.

"Professor!"

A quick arm caught him before he hit the ground. Dazed, he tried to recognize who it belonged to as his eyes fluttered. Suddenly, there was a choir of voices surrounding him - disembodied and familiar, but he was unable to place them as the floor rocked beneath his feet. 

"Hey, is he alright?"

"I think so, but he's been working through the night -"

"I haven't seen him eat all day either. You can't work if you don't treat your body to some food."

"Dear Professor, you mustn't push yourself so. Please, get some rest."

"Yeah, don't worry about us Professor. We'll handle this!"

"You'll be of no use to anyone dead. Get out of here and sleep."

"Geez Felix, you don't need to be that hard on him…"

His vision slowly began to orient itself as he gained his footing. He found himself in Ashe's arms, the knight's pale face painted in concern. An entire group of his former students had huddled around him, each one appearing as though they were preparing to catch a falling egg before it hit the floor and cracked.

"Thanks everyone. I'll be fine...I just need a short break…," he offered more weakly than he had intended, rubbing his fatigued eyes with an open palm.

"Nonsense, Professor! We insist you retire and get some sleep. It will do our soldiers' morale no good to see one of their leaders on the verge of collapse," Lorenz stated astutely in his typical flowery manner. 

Everyone else chimed in their agreement, providing words of encouragement and advice, all concluding that the Professor leave the remaining injured soldiers to their capable hands. Byleth found that he had no argument against the masses, and relented.

"Okay - I know I can leave this to all of you. Thanks everyone."

His former students returned the gesture with a unified sigh of relief, obviously all prepared to make their mentor get some rest whether he intended to or not. 

"Do you need some help heading back to your quarters, Professor?" Ashe offered, still having yet to remove his hands from Byleth's shoulder and abdomen. 

The former teacher politely shrugged them off, presenting a small smile in return, "Thanks for the offer, but I should make it back fine. It's more important that you stay here and continue to aid the injured. I'm counting on you all."

Everyone sounded their affirmation, wishing him a good night's rest and speedy recovery as Byleth exited the hall and began to cross the Academy courtyard. The demigod couldn't help but feel discouraged on his commute to the dormitories. What good was he as the vessel of the Goddess if he was still prone to fatigue? Sothis may have blessed him with several gifts, but at the end of the day he was still mortal...and still prone to all of the strain and weakness that came with the title. 

His normally hurried footsteps that echoed off the monastery's walls were considerably slower and deadened as memories of the battle danced in and out of his vision. Normally, the former mercenary had no problem omitting such scenes from his mind, but the battle of Gronder was different. Many good men were lost, and many familiar faces were cut down in the name of greater peace. As the former Professor traversed the grounds of Garreg Mach, he couldn't help but notice the grieving faces of his former students. He witnessed Leonie and Ingrid in the distance, the blonde knight sobbing into the shoulder of her mercenary friend, likely distraught by the loss of Prince Dimitri's life. Bernadette was crouched in a shadowed corner, coiling herself into a fetal position with Petra's arms wrapped around her. Even from a distance it was obvious that Bernie was trembling in her friend's embrace, both dealing with the demons of war. Byleth began to grimace as he walked, similar scenes echoing themselves while he trudged, his heart sinking into the soles of his feet despite its inability to beat. He closed his eyes, as he willed the images away, but found it useless. The sounds of ballistas and mage fire pounded incessantly inside his skull, and the teacher found he could no longer fight the demons plaguing him. Reluctantly, he allowed himself to wallow in it, his thoughts now sprinting towards Claude.

Claude...it's my fault.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

It was Claude that had suggested sending in the flying units to first address the central hill and then take the Imperial army to the north and east. In the meantime, cavalry and unmounted units would dispatch of any Kingdom interference that might occur. This would leave the Alliance Leader in charge of the offensive against Edelgard's forces while Byleth played defense against Dimitri's. The Professor had agreed to the plan, intending to only defend the line from the Fargheus soldiers as needed and to Claude's instruction...until he saw the Crown Prince. The Professor barely recognized the now-grown school boy, his face having grown contorted with unending rage and malice. He recalled Dimitri as always having been a thoughtful and dignified young man, offering compassion to the instructor many times throughout the school year. Byleth hoped that if he could break through the line and get close enough to exchange words with the heir, maybe he could be swayed into joining forces despite Claude's caution against it. It broke the Professor's heart to see his former pupil suffering as he was, and so allowed his emotions to get the better of his judgement. He tried his best to only incapacitate the kingdom units that took up arms against him, his black charger easily plowing through the dispatched foot soldiers as he ascended the knoll on which the young lord stood. Once he was within shouting distance, he called out to the wayward prince, hoping that the wind would carry his words well.

"Dimitri! Please stop this! Let us work together to defeat the Empire. It doesn't have to be this way!"

The heir's expression turned into that of a snarl, raising his shoulders high and hunkering his hips low like a cornered, feral beast.

"I should have known you would have allied yourself with that monster all along, Professor. If you are not with me, than you are my enemy and I WILL HAVE YOUR HEAD!"

Byleth only had time to blink as Dimitri swiftly closed the distance between them, readying a javelin. The former mercenary somehow managed to deflect the projectile with the Sword of the Creator, bringing the whip-like tip of his weapon to the ground in order to create a spray of rubble, therefore affording him temporary cover. He dismounted his steed and sent the beast running, recognizing that being astride would only make him a larger target against Dimitri's pointed strikes.

As the dust from Byleth's attack began to dissipate, he instinctively brought the flat of his sword to his chest defensively, and with not a moment to spare. Dimitri launched his assault, bursting through the veil of ash and dust, his spear-like Relic sparking red as it made contact with the demigod's sword. The Crown Royal's face was twisted into a shattered and macabre smile, a lone eye wide with madness and glazed red with burst vessels.

"Enough of this Dimitri! We're on the same side!" Byleth protested, extending his blade to force his assailant back, widening the distance between them by several yards. The crazed prince managed to keep his footing despite the volatile push by digging his toes into the earth, red energy crackling in the surrounding air as they clashed. The man roared as he shrugged off the Professor's Relic with his own, his voice steeped in anger. 

"LIES!" the crazed lord spat. In a flash, Dimitri charged with abandon and the pair began to spar, the heir's erratic and wild movements keeping Byleth on the defensive.

Despite the lack of discipline in Dimitri's attacks, his overwhelming strength and animalistic drive had Byleth working his hardest just to stay on par with his opponent. Each jab the man delivered was precise and forceful, making the demigod's joints buckle and spasm with every blow. 

"Dimitri," Byleth begged earnestly, allowing fear to escape into his voice, "please, listen to me!"

The noble's exposed eye softened for a brief moment as they crossed blades, both of their arms shaking with strain as they ground into each other. But, any emotion Dimitri felt was quickly buried as he shook his head, snarling once more.

"ENOUGH!"

The wild lord thrust forward with his spear, aiming high. Byleth blocked the Relic before it made contact with his head, but soon realized his mistake. A swift boot to the Professor's gut had him soaring backwards onto the soil, forcing the grip he had around his blade to loosen. Dimitri deftly kicked the sword from his former teacher's hand and out of reach, following by digging a quick heel into his adversary's exposed chest. The demigod thrashed about in vain, trying desperately to pry the noble's boot off but to no avail. The dark figure of the mad prince loomed over him, blood dripping from his nose and onto Byleth's face as he chuckled with insane mirth, readying his Relic above the professor’s exposed throat. A shadow fell over the pair as the professor ceased his writhing, preparing to die with dignity as his eyes made contact with Dimitri's soulless visage.

The prince's laughter halted as he raised the spear and angled it, his face growing dark in preparation.

"Good-bye, Professor."

Byleth readied a prayer for Sothis, bargaining for his life if She be willing to turn back the hands of time. 

Just as he was about to indulge in his divine gifts, the shadow above them grew larger and a bellowing roar echoed overhead. Dimitri looked up just as an arrow made contact with his shoulder, tendrils of red electricity pouring from the tip. As the heir stumbled, the tactician took the opportunity to sweep Dimitri's leg from under him, rolling to the side to avoid being landed on while also collecting his sword from the ground nearby. 

"Teach! Are you alright?"

Byleth looked up to see Claude and his wyvern hovering just above him, the Alliance leader's face fraught with concern. The former mercenary nodded in exchange just before hearing a sickening snap as Dimitri yanked the arrow from his flesh with a simple twist. He spat blood as he threw the arrow aside, sneering at Claude as crimson flowed down his exposed teeth. 

"Curses! A pox on you both!" he hissed, once again taking up his weapon.

"Listen, Dimitri!" Claude shouted, already nocking another arrow, "We're not your enemy. Let's talk this out…"

"GET OUT OF MY WAY!" 

With a scream, the prince loosed his spear, launching it straight at Claude, who in turn sent another volley just as swiftly. Byleth could only watch in horror as both projectiles hit their marks, a loud cracking sound echoing over the field as Claude gasped and gripped his shoulder. Likewise, Dimitri fell to his knees, an arrow jutting out from his waist.

"Claude!" Byleth cried, running towards him as the wyvern descended, catching his partner midair as he fell from the saddle. Without giving it a thought, the demigod ripped Dimitri's Relic from the Alliance leader's shoulder, sparks fizzing as he threw it to the side. Claude could only respond with a pained cry, eyes rolling back into his head with agony as he began to howl and curse just before falling silent 

Working quickly, the Professor hoisted his comrade over his shoulder and unceremoniously shoved his limp body back on the awaiting wyvern that clicked and chattered with dismay. Byleth then shimmied onto the beast's back behind him, adjusting himself so that Claude's body would slump backwards onto his own as they flew, readying himself should his partner fall to one side. With urgency, the demigod collected the reins and kicked the great lizard's sides who promptly took wing and began to journey back towards the Alliance encampment, a rush of air greeting them as they rocketed towards the sky.

"Claude! Claude! Can you hear me?! Claude!"

To his relief, a weak voice responded following a ragged inhale and a meek cough, the words he produced almost unintelligible.

"Hey Teach...I'm glad you're okay…"

"You're going to be fine, Claude, everything's going to be okay," Byleth prayed, more for his own sake than his comrade's. The wind stung at his eyes as they traversed back, but that was not the cause for the tears that fell from them as they raced against time. So focused was the tactician on getting their company to safety that he didn't notice Claude's raised hand until it was on his face, collecting one of the tears before it could fall to the ground below. 

"Don't do that, Teach...you're going to make me cry too-"

Byleth clasped his partner's hand in his own before it fell away, pressing it to his face as he began to utter a healing spell. Taking both of their hands, he pushed their palms flat against the gaping hole in Claude's shoulder, a white glow subduing the red sparks as he worked, trying not to allow his voice to falter as he continued the enchantment. As the mana began to spread, Claude looked up into his mentor's eyes and smiled slyly before going limp, his body falling into Byleth's.

"No, no, no, dammit Claude, stay with me!"

In fevered tones, Byleth chanted the intonations even faster as they approached the goldenrod tents clustered in the distance. Because of the Relic's properties, the wounds left behind were more resilient to white magicks. Thankfully, at least Claude bore a Crest, so his immunity to the curse was naturally higher than a commoner. That alone was likely the only factor keeping him alive now as blood continued to pour down the front of his armor, staining the pair's respective garbs as the Wyvern began its descent. 

The beast eased itself to the ground, turning its mighty head to observe its injured master. Within moments, Judith and Manuela were already rushing to their side, followed by a team of white mages carrying a stretcher. Byleth gingerly removed himself, letting Claude fall back into his arms and come to rest on the ground as the team approached.

"Byleth!" Judith grabbed his shoulders with both hands, her stare stabbing into his and demanding answers, "What happened to the kid? Is he alive? Are you hurt?"

The tactician felt as though the world had slowed to a halt around him, color draining from his face while he delivered his report - vague figures moving by in blurs as a team of medics placed Claude gently on a stretcher and whisked him away.

"Dimitri...Dimitri's Relic struck him. I tried to heal him as best I could but the wound isn't closing."

Manuela must have overheard, muttering "oh dear" to herself as she sprinted to join the mages already beginning their chants before they entered the medical tent. Judith sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger.

"That idiot. Doesn't he know we're depending on him to stay alive if we want to win this war? What was he thinking?"

Byleth's face was blank but he couldn't stop the tears from falling as he responded meekly, "he was trying to defend me. It's my fault."

"Oh," Judith sighed once more, placing a sympathetic hand on Byleth's shoulder, "Well, that makes sense. We need both of you together if we wanna win this thing. Don't worry about Claude, Byleth. We'll make sure he receives the very best care. Plus, I know him. He'd be damned if he let a little thing like this put a stop to his ambitions. Besides, your students need you right now. It's what Claude would want you to do, and you know it."

Nodding in agreement, Byleth wiped his tears on a sleeve, preparing himself for a second round. Picking up a nearby bow and quiver as he left, the demigod turned to mount Claude's wyvern once more, stealing himself to face Edelgard's troops.

"Judith," Byleth requested, his voice deep with apprehension, "keep him alive for me."

The hero of Daphnel saluted in response as Byleth was pushed from the ground with a flap of mighty wings, soaring high above Gronder in mere moments. He shook his head, clearing it as he spurred his mount into action, avoiding mage fire as they dived between the opposing forces.

The Kingdom's army had been almost completely decimated - all but a small stream of blue soldiers running south in vain, Demonic Beasts already routing their escape. The display was sickening to behold, but not nearly as horrid as what followed. A group of at least thirty Imperial troops surrounded a lone figure, the trademark sparks of a Relic identifying the individual to be Dimitri. With the force of a small army, His Highness held off the mass assault considerably longer than natural, pikes striking him from every direction. The man was nearly disemboweled before finally collapsing as the swarm consumed him, screaming curses at Edelgard until his last breath - followed by a rasping, guttural gurgle and then silence. Byleth witnessed the whole affair, unable to take his eyes away from the gruesome scene. 

As the mass of Imperial red parted, a particular soldier held aloft his vulgar trophy. His fingers were curled around a mass of blonde hair, Dimitri's lifeless head dangling just below - blood and tears still draining from his face. 

Ba-dump.

A weird sensation filled Byleth's chest as he gripped his blade in anger, his knuckles turning white as they tightening around the wyvern's reins. 

Ba-dump.

The Sword of the Creator began to vibrate as the Crest Stone in the crossguard pooled with ancient magicks - a glowing red spiraling down from the blade and up through the hilt. Byleth's eyes began to shine with ethereal light as he loosed his scream to the heavens, commanding the wyvern to descend upon them. 

Ba-dump.

With a forceful down-swing he sent the Relic's whip-like tail to the ground, scattering the Imperials, several of them launching into the air on contact. He brought the weapon back and forth, scarring the earth with a blind rage until he caught the attention of the Demonic Beast, who then promptly began their charge. 

Ba-dump.

Sheathing his Relic, Byleth took up the bow he had gathered, and launched volley after volley into the corrupted Crest Stones on the Beasts' faces with pinpoint accuracy, willing each arrow to fly true. The Beasts collapsed upon themselves just before they could reach him, their bodies dissipating into the air and leaving only human skeletons and ashen soot behind. Having finished there, Byleth searched the field for his former students, his eyes finally discerning the location of the front line. And Edelgard.

Ba-dump.

Byleth advanced with the speed of gale-force winds, the impressive beast beneath him yielding to his commands as they dived low, gliding just above the heads of the enemy soldiers. Readying the bow yards ahead, he allowed himself to come to full draw as the air whistled in his ears - Edelgard's figure becoming more clear with each passing second. He exhaled, tightening his core and leveling his elbows as Claude had showed him. Tuning out all but his target he counted backwards from three, nearly in range.

Ba-dump.

The Adestrian Emperor turned to face him just has Byleth loosed his arrow, her body moving on instinct in the nick of time, the projectile striking her shoulder and not her heart. The professor had hoped for their eyes not to connect - for the arrow to make its mark with perfect precision. A merciful kill. Instead, another one of his former pupils gazed up at him as she brought her hand up in shock. Unlike Dimitri, there wasn't any anger apparent on her face...only grief and acceptance. It was somehow worse that way. 

"Professor…"

The aura of energy surrounding the demigod and the Sword of the Creator began to dissipate and the enraged thumping in his chest evolved into a dull ache as he addressed the Empress. 

"Edelgard...why?"

Her violet eyes seemed yards away, though they observed his own. The grimace she wore wasn't from the pain of the attack, but rather from something far deeper...a much older wound.

"I wish there was something I could say to make you understand," she started, eyes now downcast, "But, fear not; you have secured your victory this day. I wish I could look forward to our next meeting, Professor. Instead, I dread the day."

With an air of exalted grace despite her injury, she raised her hand aloft, a blaring horn sounding nearby. Remaining soldiers echoed the command to retreat, washing over Edelgard and obscuring her from Byleth's sight in mere moments. A tide of red swelled and was pulled to the west almost magnetically - soldiers and beasts vanishing into the misted woods like spectral phantoms. 

They had won.

There wasn't any joyous shouts of victory from Alliance and Church soldiers on this day as he reigned Claude's wyvern around, preparing himself for the dismal ordeal of searching the field for those still breathing among the dead. Not far, a handful of Byleth's students stood in a near trance - statuesque. Their faces were pale, some coming to their knees while others brought a sleeve to their moistened eyes. The cacophony of explosions and battle cries was gone, but despite the lack of action, the air was not silent. Small fires still crackled when all at once the ground seemed to howl in unison, injured persons wailing out from the far reaches of Gronder. 

Byleth eased the wyvern down, his legs feeling like sand as he dropped to its side, nearly collapsing from fatigue. He caught himself by grabbing for the saddle, waiting for the sensation of spinning to abide before taking another step. The professor's hands shook as he brought them to his tired eyes, inhaling as he searched inwardly in vain.

Sothis...can this be undone? How do I turn time back to prevent all of this? Claude...Edelgard...Dimitri…I - I cannot accept this. 

He waited, praying for a response that wouldn't come. 

His knees hit the earth, his expression ashen - belying his inner turmoil. He was no God, hardly a vessel. He was a sham...a fraud. What good was he if he couldn't prevent these horrors? This was no gift. 

Curses…

The hands at his eyes curled into fists as they gripped his bangs, the demigod's face lowering towards the earth as his body doubled over.

"AUUUGHHH!"

His voice joined the dismal chorus of the pained shrieks and wailing bellows around him. 

And so ended the Battle at Gronder. 

\---------------------------------------------------

Awash in thoughts, Byleth realized he had been standing with his hand on the door to his dormitory for several minutes. Sighing, he rested his forehead against the frame and shut his eyes, inhaling deeply as he willed the demons of war away. Cursing, the Professor turned heel and walked up the brick-and-mortar stairway instead, his body subconsciously guiding him to Claude's room. Due to the tight conditions in the infirmary, the Alliance Leader had been admitted to his own quarters during his recovery, albeit monitored routinely. Though it had only been a little more than 48 hours since the battle at Gronder, the Leicester tactician had yet to awaken or show signs of recovery, which only increased Byleth's anxiety as he brought a knuckle to the door and knocked softly. 

No response…

Inching the door open, the former teacher entered slowly, preparing himself for any possibility. Claude appeared to still be resting in his bed, head propped up against the pillow behind him. While faint, his chest continued to rise and fall, the bandages covering his shoulder stained burgundy from the medication used to disinfect the wound. Resting on the nightstand nearby was a collection of more unused bandages as well as various tinctures and vials containing both herbal and magical remedies. Adjacent to the impromptu apothecary was displayed a vase full of Almyran Lilies that Hilda had personally selected - even if, in her own words, "he wasn't a flower guy." But she counteracted her own statement immediately because "it would still do him good to livening up his room a bit, anyway."

Closing the door behind himself, the Professor spanned the small space with relative ease (considering the Alliance noble normally had stacks of tomes, maps and scrolls strewn carelessly about on a typical day). Removing the nearby chair from Claude's writing desk, Byleth pulled it alongside the edge of his companion's bed and sat next to him, observing him intently for any minute response. Gingerly, the mentor brought a gentle hand to his pupil's face and lightly stroked his jawline, the leader's whiskers coarse but well-managed. The demigod couldn't help but be amazed at both how much and how little his dear friend had changed in what felt like such a short amount of time. What had been five years on Fòdlan hadn't even felt like a passage of time to Byleth as he slept. It was more akin to the moment one dozes off briefly...closing one's eyes as their head bobs ever so slightly. Yet, here Claude was - matured, decorated and crowned. But, beneath all of those shallow titles and frivolities, the Almyran native was still the same as he had ever been: quick-witted, caring, strategic and thoughtful. Byleth couldn't help but smile as he gazed at the face of his comrade, bringing his hand down to Claude's bow-worn fingers. He clasped the man's hand in his own, stroking it lovingly with his thumb. 

"You would have been proud of them today, Claude..." Byleth whispered, a tear leaving his face to rest on the linen bed sheets below, "they've all grown into amazing people."

The Professor felt a horrible aching in his chest - an unbearable gnawing at his ribs and throat he had only felt a few times prior… most notably after Jeralt's passing. Overwhelmed, Byleth brought his face down to his friend's side, sobbing into the bed quietly. 

"I'm so sorry, Claude. This is all my fault."

He continued to grasp his partner's hand as his shudders turned into sniffles and eventually stopped altogether. Though he tried to resist, the demigod could no longer stay lucid. Between the recent battle, lack of sleep, and use of his divinity to wield the Sword of the Creator, Byleth was effectively running on fumes. Unable to dictate the needs of his body, he wasn't even cognitive of the forces that plunged him into his nocturnal respite - despite the overwhelming fear that he should fall into another half-decade slumber. But, while his dreams were begotten of flames and the singing of steel on steel, he wasn't afraid…

...because someone was holding his hand…

...and it was warm.

\------------------------------------

A repetitive, but oddly calming, sensation on Byleth's scalp brought him back to consciousness. His eyes opened slowly, unable to register exactly where he was or why he was sleeping in a chair with his head face-down on another's mattress. The feeling of his hair being stroked ceased as the Professor stirred, yawning as he brought the heel of his hand to a crust-covered eyes. 

"Good morning, sunshine."

If his heart was beating it would have promptly stopped. Byleth opened his eyes wide and lifted his head completely from the bed, a face he knew all too well greeting him in the morning light.

"Sorry Teach! Didn't mean to wake you up, but you had an uhh...feather in your hair…" Claude began, his emerald eyes catching his teacher's gaze for a brief moment before looking away just as quickly, a red flush forming at his cheeks.

The demigod couldn't comprehend the onslaught of emotions that followed, tears forming instantly as he observed his companion. Just as quickly as they came, the tears turned into sobs, and Byleth could only respond by hiding his face in his hands in order to obscure the shame and embarrassment he felt. 

"Claude...I'm so sorry. It's my fault this happened. I was being irrational and I put my emotions first. This would have never happened if I would have just stuck to the pla--"

The Professor's apologies were cut short as he felt his hands being pulled away from his face and into another's. A dark shock of hair appeared before him as Claude gently pressed his forehead against his mentor's, following the action by placing a hand on the back of Byleth's neck and squeezing gently. The demigod's sobs subsided as his comrade hummed softly, the man’s lips forming his trademark half-smile.

"Hey, hey, hey….Teach, it's okay. I'm just happy that you're alive."

"But, Claude….you could have died…" the professor started while both parties closed their eyes, pressing their heads even closer together as their voices turned to whispers. 

The Leicester noble smirked slyly in response, continuing to massage the nape of his partner's neck, "You honestly think something as small as this would stop me? Give me more credit than that, Teach! I've got too many schemes to finish up before I walk out of here. You aren't getting rid of me that easily."

The Professor smiled at the sentiment, gripping Claude's wrist. The two kept the pose for some time until Byleth's tears had dried completely, the Almayran's calming and melodic hums putting his mentor at ease as a mother would her child.

"I missed you, Claude."

"I missed you too, my friend."

Claude smiled as he placed a kiss on his comrade's forehead, pressing them together a final time before resting back onto his pillow, wincing as he repositioned. 

"Claude! Are you in pain, do you need anything? I can ask for Manuela if you -"

As Byleth went to leave his chair, the Alliance leader's hand caught his own, preventing him from standing. 

"No, please. Let's just stay here, just the two of us, a moment longer. It's rare that we both manage to get any time alone. We can just ...pretend I'm still asleep for a bit longer."

Byleth felt his cheeks grow red at the proposal, not understanding why. Nonetheless, he agreed, settling back into his stool while he held his companion's hand.

"Okay."

The former teacher waited for his student to make a remark, but it never came. Instead, Claude's piercing and analytical eyes stay trained and focused on the Professor. Normally, such an appraisal would perturb the demigod, but the Almayran's calm demeanor diminished any cause for concern. Byleth still found it a bit odd, making him wonder if he perhaps had something unusual on his face.

"What is it?" he asked, trying to smile disarmingly.

Claude only laughed at the interaction, running a hand through his disheveled, chocolate locks, "It's nothing. I just can't believe I'm looking at the same person that saved my life in Remire five years ago. The first Byleth I knew wouldn't have shed a single tear, much less smile or even laugh. Skip forward a couple moons, and here he is: crying over me and smiling at my stupid jokes. It's just - flattering, really."

Byleth blushed and looked away, unable to respond as he wasn't sure what had changed himself. After a few seconds of thought, he exchanged glances with his friend, smiling as he spoke, "I guess I just have you to blame for that, then."

Claude chuckled in turn, his normally hearty laugh dampened - likely to reduce the pain from jostling too much.

"That's fair enough. I must be a pretty influential person for the reincarnation of Sothis herself to think so highly of me."

The pair of them laughed, and then a pause. Byleth's grip on Claude's hand tightened. 

"Hey…Claude?"

"Yeah, Teach?"

"When this war is over...you're going back to Almayra aren't you?"

The leader of the Leicester Alliance sighed, lowering his gaze. He shifted uncomfortably as he cleared his throat before admitting, "Yeah....heh. Nothing gets passed you Teach. I'm sure you figured it out already but --"

"You're the heir to the Almyran throne. It did take me awhile to figure it out, but - yes; I did come to that conclusion," Byleth stated flatly, unable to look at his friend as he continued, "I know we both have our duties to fulfill. Your's to Almyra and mine to the people of Fódlan and the Church of Serios. But, maybe - when this is all over - do you think --"

Before he could finish, he felt fingers underneath his chin, lifting his attention from the floor and into the forest green of Claude's mysterious eyes. They were so close that the demigod could no longer make out the details in his companion's face as he leaned into his, the Almayran's lips appearing warm and inviting.

"My friend…"

They kissed as Byleth raised a hand to caress his partner's face. Claude's surprisingly strong arms pulling him in even closer, and the demigod could taste the sweet decadence of Pine Tea and spiced wine on his breath. His embrace was warm, and the Professor found himself almost unable to leave, despite the fact he was becoming short of breath. They parted briefly, exchanging shallow pants for air before diving back into one another, moving in almost perfect sync. After a brief time, Claude moved away, pressing his forehead once again against his partner's, his voice deep and earnest, "Please come with me, Byleth."

The offer was so tempting - so tempting that each word of the man's response hurt to give, "Claude...I can't."

The heir closed his eyes, shaking his head in tempered frustration, "I know that; I do. And I wish with all my heart that I could change our destinies - especially because I always believed we paved our own. But...but, I just can't imagine life without you. When you vanished for five years, the only thing that kept me going was the hope that you were out there somewhere - anywhere - just waiting for us to find you. And then, when I saw Dimitri nearly kill you at Gronder, I felt the worst sensation in my life. I can't explain it, but it felt as if I was dying. My entire world crumbled around me when we lost you after the attack on Garreg Mach. I couldn't handle that again, I just couldn't. I put on a brave face for the Alliance, and for all of those resisting the Empire. But, deep inside I was breaking. I...I love you, my friend. I know it's foolish to think this could work, but I can't ignore my heart anymore. I needed to let you know that."

"I feel the same way," Byleth began, offering a bittersweet smile as he spoke, "I wasn't sure if I could ever actually love someone before I came to Garreg Mach. But, because of you, I've been able to embrace my emotions. And, I think it's because I love you too. I thought I lost you at Gronder, Claude. Know that I would have given up my life one-hundred times if it meant saving yours."

The injured tactician laughed, pulling Byleth into a gentle embrace, "Well, we're at an impasse then, because I would give my life up one-hundred times to save yours as well. That wouldn't do either of us any favors."

The Professor laughed in turn, taking precautions to hug his companion gently as to not aggravate his wound. They kissed once more, this one simple and chaste, both blushing at their mutual gazes of adoration. 

Claude began to hum once again contentedly, nuzzling playfully into his mentor's shoulder, "Don't worry, Teach. We'll figure it out. We're the two best minds Fódlan has to offer. Granted, that isn't saying much...but if anyone can find a way to make this work, it's us."

Byleth tickled his lover's nose with his own, closing his eyes as if to prolong this moment between them, "First things first: we have to finish this war for good."

Claude gave an exasperated sigh in agreement, letting go of Byleth as he settled back into his pillow. 

"I suppose you're right, Teach, as always. I guess that also means I should get some rest and heal up fast so we can get to work."

"You're probably right," Byleth chuckled, bringing a hand to his face to cover his smile.

"Hey, Teach?"

"Hmm?"

"You're cute when you smile. I never want to see you cry again. I'll make sure you're happy every day for the rest of your life after this is over. I promise."

The sentiment was so sweet that the demigod felt as though his cheeks would burst from the rush of blood that filled his face. He quickly pressed a hand to his lips and turned away from Claude, unable to speak.

"Now you're even cuter. Man, Teach. You shouldn't tease a guy like that when he has a hole in his shoulder."

"But I'm not -"

The Almayran took the professor’s outburst as an opportunity to steal another kiss from his him, and while Byleth tried to resist, he found he didn't want to.

"You really promise? Byleth managed to ask in-between the tussles of their tongue.

"Of course. I will make you the happiest man throughout all of Fódlan and Almyra."

"I already am," the demigod purred, looking into his lover's eyes once more, allowing himself to get lost in them.


End file.
